


scented

by bonebo



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Stink, Sweat, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:52:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8780350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonebo/pseuds/bonebo
Summary: They’d almost died, and watching Gabriel celebrate, watching his boss drink cheap tequila straight from the bottle and sling himself over the nearest warm body, has Jesse high on post-battle adrenaline and something else.





	

They’d all almost died.

 

The mission had been a success, sure, but a hard-won one; on the flight home Jesse’d taken stock of his injuries and found more than a few that he’d still be feeling for a couple days. Most of the team had been quiet, licking their own wounds or resting--Gabriel had been silent, tapping away at a datapad in his lap, brows drawn down and focused.

But now they’re home. Back at a home no one thought they’d see again.

 _They’d almost died_ , and watching Gabriel celebrate, watching his boss drink cheap tequila straight from the bottle and sling himself over the nearest warm body, has Jesse high on post-battle adrenaline and something else. 

Something decidedly harder to explain away.

He tells himself it’s Gabriel’s fault--for wearing such a tight grey tanktop under his armor in the Mississippi heat, because of course it’s going to turn dark with sweat down the valley of his spine and cling to the meaty swell of his pecs, do nothing to hide the large peaks of his nipples against the wet fabric. And the worst is that every time Gabriel moves, Jesse finds his gaze drawn to yet another point of interest: the dark, blooming stains of sweat under Gabriel’s arms, the glistening strip of skin between the frayed hem of his shirt and the waistband of his fatigues, the drops of tequila that cling to the dark hairs of his beard. 

He’s a fucking masterpiece, a conquering hero revelling in his hard-fought glory, and he’s making Jesse harder than he’s been in years. Gabriel flings an arm over Bodhan’s shoulders and Jesse can glimpse the dark thatch of hair that curls in the hollow of his pit, swears he can all but taste the sweat that’s collected there, musky and strong and sour on his tongue--

Jesse forces his gaze down, to the ice that lingers in the dregs of his whiskey sour, and gives the glass a twirl to try to distract himself. He can hear Traes yelling over the din of the gathered agents--”Reyes, go take a shower! I’ll bet they can smell that stink all the way in Switzerland!”--and swallows down the whimper that threatens to spill past his lips. 

“Fuck you! This is the stench of victory!” Reyes crows back, and Jesse wonders how discreet he is in grinding the heel of his hand against the subtle tent in the crotch of his jeans.

Not very, apparently, because in the next second his shoulders are saddled with a moist, heavy weight--and oh, fuck, this close Reyes does stink. It’s the oil of Blackwatch’s rover engine and the gunpowder of his shotguns, the ash of the building they’d burnt to the ground still flecked through his hair, the salty tang of his sweat. It’s heady and almost overpowering, and all Jesse can smell when Reyes leans close to his ear.

“Someone seems to be enjoying himself,” he murmurs, his voice slurring a little and smelling strongly of tequila. His arm tightens, jerking Jesse closer, and Jesse shivers when he feels the sweat-wet, warm hair of Gabriel’s pit brushing over the exposed skin of his neck. “You don’t mind how I smell, do you, cowboy?”

“N-no, sir,” Jesse stammers, trying to lean into the embrace, turn his head enough to get his nose against Gabriel’s skin--

But then the Commander is pulling away, attention diverted to the card game that Qua beckons him over to. He slips away from Jesse with a chuckle and a smirk, which is alright; Jesse’s too busy trying to bury his nose against his shoulder, chase the musky scent that lingers on the fabric, to notice it anyway.


End file.
